


Evenly At Odds

by comtessedebussy



Series: The Prize [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Dirty Talk, Guilt, Hand Jobs, M/M, Manipulation, Multiple Orgasms, References to Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds out who Castiel is. This only manages to throw a wrench into their relationship temporarily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean woke up with his body, unsurprisingly, screaming. He was always sore the day after a battle, his muscles protesting the previous day’s exertions. Blinking his eyes open, he found his hand wrapped around a warm body – belonging to Castiel, of course. Castiel, who was lying serenely next to him, already awake, hands folded on top of his stomach as he lay quietly by Dean.

Everything came flooding back.

“Morning,” he mumbled sleepily as a small smile crept onto his face at the memories. He wondered if either of them might be up for another round this morning.

“Good morning, my lord.” Cas had turned his head towards Dean, gazing at Dean expectantly.

 “Okay, you can drop the title and everything,” Dean said, a harsh note entering his voice.  The formality of Castiel’s addresses was dragging him out of the morning-after bliss.

Castiel looked surprised and confused, and Dean blinked again, thinking he’d misread the expression of his new bedmate.

“It was all fun and good last night but you don’t have to “my lord” me all the time,” he explained, hoping Castiel would catch on. Instead, Castiel blinked, his expression growing even more confused.

“But – you are my master – “ Castiel began.

Dean sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What?”

“I am to obey you. That’s what I was told.”

“Told? By who?” In a completely cliché way, his brain offered the thought that it was too early for this.

“By your king, my lord.”

“Stop calling me that!” Dean snapped. Castiel had the grace not to flinch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he continued in an only slightly more calm tone. “What the hell is this?”

“My –“

“Dean,” Dean interrupted, before another “My lord” left Castiel’s lips.

“Dean. I had thought you knew– “

“Knew what?”

Castiel tilted his head, looking at him with piercing, confused blue eyes.

“Who am I and how I am here.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“I am Prince Castiel,” he said quietly.

“Prince - ?” Dean jumped off the bed, staring. “Prince, as in crown prince to the land we just conquered?”

Castiel nodded.

“Oh god.” Dean sank into an armchair conveniently near his bed. He realized belatedly that he was completely naked on display before Castiel, but, given the circumstances, and their _intimacy_ last night, the thought barely crossed his mind that maybe he should be wearing something.

Castiel watched him without uttering a word.

“I fucked a prince. Of the crown. And I – I – “ he trailed off as another look of horror dawned over his face. “Oh god. You thought you had to do what I said and I didn’t even – “

He buried his head in his hands, his words trailing off.

“Dean?” Castiel remained sitting on the bed, unsure how to proceed. He was still naked, and though he wanted to approach Dean and comfort him, he doubted his touch would be welcome, or that his naked body would be a sight Dean wanted to see.

“Why are you here?” Dean demanded.

“Were you told nothing?” Castiel asked, his deference making way for genuine curiosity marked with hints of despair.

Dean shrugged. “Michael told me my prize was waiting. I thought he meant someone willing he’d found at court – “

Castiel laughed softly at that, and instantly regretted it for the look on Dean’s face.

“I am – was- crown prince. I was to inherit my kingdom but it seems that Fate had  - other ideas.” He explained. “Your king has long had his sights set on my throne, my army, my land. He offered me a deal: if I would give myself up and agree to disappear, my people would not be enslaved and punished.”

“And you believed him?” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged. “I had little choice. You had won the battle, so any further resistance on my part would have meant pain and death for my people.” He looked at Dean hopefully.

 “Michael is not a kind man, but he usually keeps his word,” Dean offered. “Has all these ideas of righteousness in his head.”

Castiel sighed in visible relief.

“Though clearly righteousness doesn’t extend to telling me what the hell’s going on.” Dean sighed before jumping up, gathering his varied belongings from their scattered places around the room. Castiel watched, perhaps with a little too much interest, as Dean clothed himself. “I need to go speak with him,” Dean explained as he buckled on his sword. “Just stay here and – “ he broke off as the realization dawned on him for about the fifth time that Castiel was a _prince._ I.e. not someone he could order around. He had a feeling he was going to forget a few more times.

“I’ll be back,” he said, leaving Castiel on the bed where he’d found him, wearing nothing but a confused expression.  

…

When Dean stormed back, Castiel was equally naked, and it only added fuel to the already raging fire that was Dean’s mood. Castiel seemed to possess none of the self-consciousness Dean had encountered in most people, and he sat on the bed wearing nothing as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

All King Michael had told him, when he’d stormed in, was, “well, if you don’t want him, I’m sure we can give him to someone else. I think Zachariah wouldn’t mind a prince of his own, but I thought the reward should be yours.” Dean seethed with rage at the thought of anyone else laying a hand on Castiel, and he almost laughed hysterically in his anger, because he’s spent a night with the man, and here he was, being possessive. Or protective. Of a man who’d been their enemy until a day ago.

 “Well,” Dean said, turning the key in the lock in one angry motion, “looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Was that relief he saw on Castiel’s face? He was sure it was.

“I don’t really know what to do with you, though,” he continued, because Castiel wasn’t filling in the silence with anything.

“Whatever you wish to, my lord.”

“Castiel, I swear to God, if you call me ‘my lord’ one more time I’m going to make you suffer.”

Castiel’s lips parted in surprise, searching Dean’s face. Dean was angry, but he knew Castiel saw through the lie anyway. He rose from the bed, and ( _still naked,_ why the Hell was he _still naked_?) approached Dean. He walked regally, or perhaps that was just Dean’s imagination. Then again, there were few men that could walk around buck naked and look like they owned the place.

“As you wish, Dean,” he acquiesced, and Dean tried, he really did try not to blow up at that.

 “Goddamit, Cas! – Castiel. I’m not going to _use_ you!” he all but shouted into Castiel’s face. “I don’t need your obedience. You’re a goddamn _prince,_ so why don’t you fucking act like one?”

 “Ah.” Something changed in Castiel’s face as understanding dawned. “I see.”

Dean breathed angrily, watching the slow interplay of emotion’s on Castiel’s face.

“I suppose I should thank you for giving me the respect I hardly expected,” Castiel said carefully.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean snapped, slamming the door on his way out.  

…

Castiel watched the door slam with a resounding thud, leaving him alone. Slowly, he donned his clothes, thinking absently that it was probably wasted effort. Still, it was something to do, because when he was done, well, that just left him with his thoughts.

He paced, turning over what had happened in his head.

Dean was clearly angry, and it didn’t take long for Castiel to understand that when Dean Winchester became angry, he raged with the force of a heavenly storm inflicted by godly wrath. Dean was angry at him, too, that didn’t take long to figure out.

He ran Dean’s words through his head again, replaying their exchange over and over as he paced Dean’s spacious quarters. Dean did not like deference he felt he didn’t deserve, refused to accept obedience that he felt he had no right to. That Castiel could tell, though the more complicated reason why would have to wait. Still, it was clear he was angry at Castiel for more than simply calling him ‘lord.’ No, it seemed that he was angry at Castiel for being a prince. For some unfathomable reason, Dean felt that now-meaningless title meant something. It was almost infuriating, he thought with bitter humor, that Dean still clung to Castiel’s princely title more than Castiel himself.

…

When Dean returned that evening, they barely exchanged two words. He nodded curtly at Castiel before proceeding to bed. Castiel stood, waiting for Dean’s orders, until finally Dean snapped “get into bed, Cas,” and rolled over, burying himself in the blankets. Castiel undressed, joining Dean between the soft sheets. The bed was large enough to leave a cold chasm between the two of them, and Castiel rolled over onto his side, attempting to forget how right Dean’s arm had felt around him last night.

The next day proceeded much as the first one had. Dean ignored him. They barely spoke two words to each other, Dean finding either duties or excuses to keep him away from his rooms until nighttime. By the third day, it was clear that this was going to be a regular pattern: it seemed Dean had decided that the best way to give due deference to the prince he was stuck with was to ignore him completely. This left Castiel with a completely unique problem: he was bored. As a prince, he had rarely had time to himself, his days instead occupied with formalities and affairs of state. Having nothing to do was not a problem he was familiar with.

It was terrible.

He found himself longing for boring discussions of taxation rates. He almost longed for diplomatic meetings and dull court gatherings full of meaningless talk. He would give almost anything to again evade the empty flattery of courtiers who wanted favors. Anything to not be stuck in these rooms.

At least, he insisted to himself that he was angry to simply be confined to these paneled walls. And he was angry, angry as only a crown prince could be at being completely ignored. Disrespected, even, though Castiel knew that Dean’s cold shoulder was exactly the opposite of disrespect. It was a big conclusion to draw about a person, but somehow Castiel felt certain that Dean’s decision to completely ignore him was simply a mask for the uncertainty he felt about how to treat a former prince.

And then there was also the longing. Dean was his enemy, the reason even that he was in this position, and he should feel repulsed by the man, but instead he felt himself drawn to him. Dean was everything he had not expected: instead of humiliation, pain, and confinement, Dean gave him a grudging respect, hidden beneath layers of anger and frustration. It was almost maddening, made even more so by the memories that assaulted Castiel’s consciousness day after day. When he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Dean’s touch on his skin, the warmth of their bodies pressed together. It was so easy, too, to close his eyes and touch himself as he remembered the way that Dean’s hand had brought him to his climax. Their first night together, Dean had _cared_. He had been attentive to the pleasure of a stranger that had only been in his bed to serve him. He could not help but be irrevocably drawn to that.

Well, he would simply have to do something about it. He hadn’t had the training of a prince for nothing. If Dean wanted to condemn him to utter boredom for the rest of his life, he’d find it a difficult endeavor. No, Castiel soon realized. For the first time, he was unconstrained by propriety, necessity, duty. He did not have to suffer his boredom, did not have to resign himself to being ignored forever and constantly frustrated. No, he would find a way to get what he wanted. Which, unless Castiel was very much mistaken, was something that Dean wouldn’t mind giving in the least.

…

He allowed Dean to ignore him for a few more days, wallowing in his frustration and retreating to his memories. He paced enough to wear holes in the floor, the thoughts running through his head at maddening speeds as he considered and planned. He went over every inch of the room, learning as much as he could about Dean in the process. Finally, on the ninth day of being ignored, he confronted Dean.

It was not that he needed nine days to build up the courage. No, he needed an opportunity, and this was it – a Dean who was not exhausted and ready to fall into bed. A Dean who was in his rooms at a halfway reasonable hour. A Dean who was still pointedly ignoring him, digging through some books in search of something.

“Dean.” That simple word, his first step into the conversation.

“Hmm?” Dean looked up, seeming surprised that Castiel had addressed him.

“Will you simply ignore me for the rest of your days?” Castiel ventured.

Dean stared at him, discomfort visible on his face. A frown creased his forehead.  “I – “ he began, but no explanation followed. Dean looked down at his feet, clearly at a loss for words. Just as Castiel had expected.

 “What else am I supposed to do with you?” Dean asked finally.

Castiel shrugged as he took a few careful steps towards Dean.

“Humans need companionship,” he began. “Even princes. I have been alone for weeks.” He looked at Dean, letting all the innocence he could muster fill his gaze as he looked at Dean.

Predictably, Dean’s face filled with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he offered gruffly. “I suppose you were rarely alone when – .. as a prince?”

Castiel nodded.

 “I had most things that I desired as a prince,” he continued, stepping ever closer.  “Attention and obedience and…my needs catered to,” he suggested carefully.

Dean eyebrows shot up. “What, you got prizes for nice victories too?”

Castiel shook his head with a small smile “Not quite. But when I longed for touch, and intimacy…on those occasions, I was satisfied,” he said, adding a small kind of imploration to his words.  “And now I long for those same touches, Dean.”  They were barely a foot apart now, Castiel gazing directly into Dean’s eyes. He knew how piercing his gaze could be, and sure enough, after a few seconds of their staring contest, Dean looked away, his eyes searching for something to settle on.

“I can’t just _use_ you, Cas,” he explained when his eyes finally found their way back to Castiel’s face.  “I just – can’t,” he finished eloquently.

“But I don’t want you to _use_ me,” Castiel explained, following the intricate path of words he had laid out for himself.  “I want to remind you that I am a prince. You seem to respect that fact. I was hoping that you could help this prince with his needs….” he trailed off.

“Oh.”

“I enjoyed your touches much more than I had expected on our night together, Dean,” Castiel said softly.  “I have found myself longing for them since then.”

Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out. “Oh,” he repeated, looking Castiel up and down like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Castiel knew how he looked. He had a regal stance he liked to take on, one that was almost second nature to him with all the posturing court had drilled into him, and he knew he stood like the prince that he was. And as a prince, one learned that sometimes orders were best given with suggestions and implorations. It made them no less binding.

“Well, I think I can help you with your _needs,”_ Dean finally said after endless moments of consideration. He closed the final inches of distance between them, pulling Castiel in for a kiss. Castiel went obediently.

After that, it was unclear who was taking and who was giving. Dean began by claiming Castiel’s mouth, holding him close and consuming him without prelude, but then Castiel responded, attempting to claim Dean’s mouth as Dean claimed his, to take what was rightfully his as a prince. Each pulled the other closer, a demand rather than a request, until their bodies were aligned, impossibly close. Breaking apart, finally, gasping for breath, they were millimeters from each other. So close that each could feel the other’s hardness.

Gently, Dean turned Castiel around. Castiel shot him a short, confused look before obeying, pressing himself back against Dean. He leaned back suggestively, swaying his hips and hearing a stuttered moan. One of Dean’s hands wrapped around him, while the other snaked forward, pressing over his erection and then pulling it out of his pants.

“Dean – “ Castiel began.

“Shh. Let me take care of your needs, my prince,” Dean whispered in his ear, and Castiel fell silent after a shocked sound. He leaned his head back on Dean’s shoulder, sinfully exposing his long, elegant throat again, and how could Dean resist placing his free hand around it? He squeezed lightly, savoring the feel of Castiel’s full-body shudder against him as he thrust into Dean’s hand.

“Be still, my prince,” Dean whispered, putting another ounce of pressure on Castiel’s throat as his hand continued its skilled movements. Castiel stilled immediately, his shiver revealing arousal rather than fear at the statement. It made Dean smile. His prince was so obedient.

He felt Castiel tremble beneath his hands, letting free obnoxious sounds that did nothing to temper his own arousal. Suddenly eager to bring Castiel to the edge, to satisfy his need so that Dean could take care of his own, he quickened his movements. “Come for me, my prince,” he whispered into his ear. He doubted that Castiel would come on his command, but it felt good nevertheless to give his prince – _his_ prince – an order.

Castiel came all over his hand, trembling and shaking.

 “Perfect,” Dean whispered, stepping away. He counted a beat before Castiel longingly asked, “Is that all?”

“What, you want more?”

Castiel turned to look at him, fixing a dark stare on Dean.

 “I want everything,” he said.

“Well,” Dean responded, crossing the space between them again. “You probably should’ve mentioned beforehand that what you really wanted was my dick inside you.”

Castiel made a stunned sound that sent another thrill of arousal through Dean.

 “That _is_ what you actually want, isn’t it?” he asked, taking another step until they were mere inches apart again. He searched Castiel’s face, hoping to hear those sinful words repeated by Castiel’s sinful voice (and, he thought to himself with a pang, another confirmation of Castiel’s acquiescence couldn’t hurt).

 “I – do want you- inside me,” Castiel stuttered, uncertainly stringing together a combination of words that, Dean thought, he’d probably never uttered before.

 “Good,” he said, seizing Castiel by the collar and bending him over a table.

“Dean – “ the prince began in surprised protest.

 “Something not to your liking, prince?” Dean asked, pressing himself against Castiel and letting him feel – again – Dean’s own (still unsatisfied) cock.

“No,” Castiel whispered.

“Good.”

Castiel felt Dean move behind him, reaching for something; he watched out of the corner of his eye as Dean opened a drawer in the table, pulling out a bottle of yellowish liquid, which he spread liberally on his fingers.

“I bet you’ve never done it quite like this. I bet it used to be you doing the fucking before?” Dean asked. He pulled Castiel’s pants down as he talked, undoing his own as well. The rest of their clothes could go to Hell.

“Yes,” Castiel assented breathlessly.

“But you like it like this. You like being fucked, _prince,_ ” Dean continued talking as he put two fingers in Castiel, reveling in the breathless moan that escaped from his lips.

“Yes,” Castiel murmured.

Dean smiled, a wide, toothy grin, though Castiel couldn’t see it. “I like having my own prince,” he went on, as his fingers insistently worked Castiel open. “Other people get slaves and servants and maybe some noblemen to do with as they please, but I get a prince of my very own to do with as I please.”

He added another finger, and then let out a breathless gasp himself because Castiel moved back, fucking himself on Dean’s fingers like his life depended on it. Dean’s disorientation lasted barely a second, though; soon enough, Castiel felt Dean’s fingers digging into his hips, stilling him while his other hand continued the efficient work of preparing his body.

 “Hey,” Dean said, though his voice was just wrecked enough that Castiel thought perhaps Dean wasn’t completely in control here. “You just got what you wanted five minutes ago. Are you already that desperate?” he demanded.

Castiel nodded eagerly as his knuckles whitened around the edge of the table.

“I bet you’re hard again just from being told that I own you, _prince_ ,” Dean continued. Castiel nodded enthusiastically.

“Whore,” Dean accused before thrusting inside in one smooth movement. It felt even better than the first time, for this time, instead of the surprise that had clouded his senses during the first few seconds, Castiel could take in every ounce of sensation. He gripped the table tighter as Dean slid in, overwhelming him with the feeling of being taken.

“Do you know why I call you ‘my prince’?” Dean asked as he began to move inside Castiel’s body. “Because you’re _mine._ I own you, _prince._ To do with as I please.” He sounded so matter-of-fact, and Castiel wondered how it was that Dean spoke such coherent phrases while using his body so adamantly. Castiel himself was already overwhelmed, the sensations wrapping his mind in a foggy haze through which Dean’s voice penetrated as if from far away.

“You might be a prince,” Dean informed him as he continued to thrust into Castiel’s body,  “but you’re also a whore who likes nothing better than being fucked.” He chuckled, the sound sending a thrill through Castiel. “A royal whore.”

Castiel would get no mercy from Dean, he knew. He was not in command here, and his body shivered in anticipation. Dean was using him, bringing him closer and closer to the edge of his endurance with every movement, and his body only begged for more.

“Say it,” Dean demanded suddenly.

“W-what?”

“Tell me who you are.”

“A prince – your prince.” Castiel forced his mind to concentrate, searching for the words though they came with difficulty and fell from his lips in stuttered phrases. “I – I’m yours. To – argh- to do with as you please. And I –“ here he broke off for a series of surprised moans – “I like being used by you,” he finished.

“Keep talking,” Dean demanded, though this time the words were so breathless and wrecked he might as well be begging. It was not Castiel’s body, Castiel realized, that left Dean as incoherent as Dean’s body left Castiel. No, Dean needed Castiel’s words, just as Castiel needed Dean inside of him, using his body as if Dean was the prince and Castiel the slave.

“Use me as you wish. That’s what I’m for,” he babbled, speaking the first things that came to mind. “To serve you and be – ahh! – used by you.”

 “I’m surprised you’re still forming coherent phrases, Cas,” he said, and Castiel wanted to insist that his words were nothing but coherent, they were the utterings of a desperate madman. Dean clearly thought otherwise though, clearly thought Castiel was not enough of an incoherent wreck yet. Castiel felt a hand tangling in his hair as Dean pulled his head back and thrust harder. His hips hit the table and he let out a sharp cry of surprise.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Dean said, continuing to drive into Castiel and acquaint his body with the sharp edges of the table. Castiel gritted his teeth, his words lost in the onslaught of pain blossoming in his skin, intermingling strangely with the climax he could feel approaching.

“Please,” he begged, because that was the only word that came to mind.

Dean only pulled harder at his hair, his movements unchecked. “Shut up, _prince,_ ” Dean ordered, driving into Castiel’s body again.

Castiel wasn’t sure whether it was that final, brutal movement or the sarcastic title that Dean gave him, but one of the two took him over the edge. He clung to the table for all he was worth, thankful for the addition of Dean’s hands digging into him, because without their steadying grip, he thought he might shake apart from his climax. He sagged, limp, barely registering that Dean was still using his body while he wallowed in his blissful high.

When Dean came, he pinned Castiel to the table with his own weight, collapsing above the prince and panting into his skin. They stayed like that for mere seconds before Castiel felt his legs giving out and his muscles protesting. They disentangled themselves, stumbling over to the bed before collapsing, and for the first time in too long, they lay together in a tangle of limbs.

Eventually, though, the silence transformed from blissful to oppressive, neither of them breaching it with what they knew was a conversation that had to be had.

It was Dean who eventually croaked a simple “Cas,” the short syllable too easy to lose in the ringing silence.

Dean looked at him helplessly, his loss for words clear on his face.

“We should do this again sometime,” Castiel suggested calmly before Dean had a chance to voice doubts or protests.

His words prompted Dean to rise to one elbow, looking down at Cas.

“This is all one confusing mess that we’ve just made more complicated,” he pleaded, looking at Cas with concern. “I mean, _God,_ the stupid things I said during sex, you’re not _mine,_ Cas, you realize I didn’t actually mean them, right? You’re not – “

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted, sitting up.  “The things one says in the heat of passion are about as trustworthy as the information one gets from torturing someone,” he pointed out. Dean hardly looked mollified, so Castiel continued. “I believe this has proven that we can have a mutually beneficial agreement, in which my needs are met and you enjoy yourself. And any words we say as a part of it are mere play-acting that takes advantage of our unique situation to add a certain distinctive flavor to the activity.”

He had entered into prince mode without even realizing it, laying out a thread of logic as if this were a diplomatic negotiation. Dean seemed convinced, at least. He smiled, wide and fully.

“A mutually beneficial agreement,” he repeated. “I like it,” he said, pulling Castiel in for a kiss.

After all, agreements are so much harder to break when they’re sealed with a kiss. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Dean left for a few hours after that, and for the first time, Castiel didn’t grudge him the ability to go. He wasn’t angry that Dean was leaving him alone. Instead, he waited.

When Dean got back, their eyes met from across the room. They held each other’s gaze for a handful of seconds, desire and agreement passing through their stares, before Dean marched across the room and backed Castiel into a wall. He hit the wood paneling with a satisfying thud, closely followed by Dean’s lips on his.

Dean pressed him close, sucking the breath and the life from him through their kiss and not letting go. Castiel almost began to see stars, wondering how Dean wasn’t breathless and dizzy, when they finally broke apart.

“I have an idea,” Castiel suggested breathlessly.

“You’re not the one in charge here, _prince._ ”

Castiel shook his head. “Which is why I have a suggestion.” Castiel dropped to his knees, looking up at Dean suggestively. “I believe I owe you. You took care of my needs more than once last time, Dean.”

Castiel parted his lips, just barely, letting Dean consider.

“I have no experience with this kind of thing, of course, so you will simply have to use me,” he explained, letting his voice sound as innocent as possible.

Dean didn’t take too long to consider.

“I like this idea. A prince like you on his knees, where he belongs,” he drawled, watching as Castiel’s eyes darkened and his lips parted wider at the words. “Perfect,” he murmured, reaching down to free his erection.

He reached out, tangling a hand in Castiel’s messy hair and thrusting in. Castiel let his lips part willingly over the length of Dean’s dick, attempting to remain as still as possibly while Dean slid in as far as he could go.

 _Well, would you look at that_ , Castiel thought in the back of his head. _I don’t have a gag reflex._

Dean had remarked his fact too, making a pleased noise and pulling out to thrust back in roughly. His grip tightened in Castiel’s hair, as if he was holding on for balance and safety lest he be overwhelmed, rather than keeping Castiel’s head still as he used his mouth.

Castiel watched Dean carefully, enjoying the interplay of emotions on his face that he’d not yet had a chance to see, the fault of the positions they’d previously chosen. Dean was beautiful when he let himself go, helplessly and breathlessly surrendering to pleasure. His lips were parted, and the barest hint of red tinged his cheeks, adding to the windswept look that pleasure gave him.

Castiel liked seeing Dean like this, so defenselessly beautiful, and all because of him. He didn’t even have to do anything, simply part his lips and surrender and it took Dean by storm.

Then Dean started talking. “Prince,” he murmured first, letting the word drop thoughtfully from his lips. “ _My_ prince,” he said, awed, possessive. “Kneeling before me. It’s where you belong, Cas, serving me like a good prince is supposed to.”

Castiel could feel himself hardening at the words; the simple bliss of watching Dean be reduced to a wreck was replaced by frustration as Dean’s words dragged the reluctant arousal out of him. These should not be the words that forced need to creep through his body; this blatant disrespect of all that he was, and yet his body begged for pleasure and release with every syllable falling from Dean’s lips.

“You’re perfect for this, Cas. You were made to be used, not to rule,” Dean continued, and instead of anger flooding through Castiel, it was satisfaction at the praise, followed by desperation. He clenched his fists, praying for Dean to satisfy himself soon. He did not think he could endure many more of Dean’s words before he broke.

“Don’t touch yourself, Cas,” Dean warned. “You owe me, remember?”

Yes, Castiel remembered. He was cursing his decision to be fair right now, though, every second a battle as his arousal begged for release.

Dean’s movements sped up, quickened by that desperation that comes before climax, and Castiel wished he could sigh in relief. Instead he closed his eyes and willed himself not to be jealous at Dean’s fulfillment. He willed himself not to envy Dean. Fair was fair. Dean had taken care of his need, bringing Castiel to climax without thinking of his own. He owed him.

Dean moaned obscenely as he filled Castiel’s mouth with come, and, like the obedient prince that he was, Castiel swallowed.

Dean blinked several times as he pulled out, coming down from his blissful high to take in Castiel kneeling before him. He looked like he’d just noticed that Castiel was kneeling before him, as if the prince had not spent the last few minutes on his knees.

“Get up,” he suggested, beckoning to the bed. Or was it an order?

They lay on Dean’s bed for the second time that day, Dean propping himself up on his elbows to draw Castiel in for a long, smooth kiss.

“I’ll only be a minute,” he said, “and then we’ll take care of you.”

Castiel nodded.

“I’m prepared. You don’t have to …”

Dean raised his eyebrows and Castiel hurried to explain. “I thought we might be continuing our arrangement tonight and I wished to be prepared.”

Dean leaned down to kiss him again. “You weren’t kidding when you said mutually beneficial,” he quipped.

“I’m a good diplomat,” Castiel explained. “It’s a useful skill for a prince.”

“That it is,” Dean acquiesced.

He could feel himself beginning to harden again just from the mere thought of the prince in his bed, making himself ready for _him._ Castiel was happy to help too, his hand slipping down between Dean’s legs to aid an ally in need. And when Dean had him again, their bodies melded together in a perfect union, their synchronized movements coaxing out each other’s orgasms with perfect timing.

It seemed like they were finally even.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m usually a sucker for the kind of fic where Cas would be drawn to Dean because Dean treated him with more respect and kindness than anyone in his situation of prisoner and slave would get. I’ve written a lot of fics like this (see: Gods of War), and while I’m a sucker for this dynamic and you can definitely see it here, I wanted to change it up a bit. Hence the result of a slightly more manipulative Cas. But hey, they both end up enjoying themselves in the end so it’s all good, right?
> 
> I’m also planning on writing a few more installments, as I’ve got some more great smut planned. I just wanted to get this out there for now as a first taste of where their relationship is going.


End file.
